


The Dangerous Depths of Those Deep Hazel Eyes

by TheUsualSuspect



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Bar Fight, Fluff everywhere, Lashton - Freeform, M/M, One-Shot, SO MUCH FLUFF, i was tired posting these tags, merry merryment to you all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:55:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10140308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUsualSuspect/pseuds/TheUsualSuspect
Summary: 'All the green lights, long nightsDrinking 'til I made out with youThere were fist fights, red lightsRunning 'til I crashed into youI got my ass kicked, but you held the iceI was a train wreck, but you took the rideCan we stay here, right here?Nothing else that I wanna do'- Don't You Go- All Time Low--There are 3 things that you don't want to happen on a date.1. Your Ex- boyfriend and your current boyfriend meeting.2. Your ex- boyfriend and current boyfriend getting into a fight.3. Coming home with cuts and bruises for the first introduction of your parents to your boyfriend..But sometimes all three happen on one night.Pretty much Ashton gets into a bar fight with Luke's jackass of an ex-boyfriend.





	

A/N- I’m happily back to writing Lashton. This is a cute little one- shot inspired by lyrics from ‘Don’t You Go’ by All Time Low.  
Thank you to the two friends who helped me fix the shitty scene that is still in here somewhere, only less shitty.  
Enjoy !!  
P.s I actually edited this whole thing. 

I wasn't going to upload this until tomorrow, well afternoon, but I can't sleep so have at it.  
It's 12:11 am and that is way too late right now.

Luke's P.O.V 

I awoke to the sound of my alarm. My first thought- 'how do I turn it off', my second 'It's Sunday, I don't have an alarm on Sunday' which led to my next thought, 'is it actually Sunday?'. The worry in that thought woke me up a little more and as it did I realised that it was actually my phone ringing. I was still half asleep as I blindly groped around on my bedside table for it. I answered without checking the caller ID.  
"Hello," I answered, pushing my long limbs up into a sitting position.  
"Did I wake you up?" Was the familiar voice's first question.  
"A little," I replied with a yawn.  
"Sorry, but it's eleven thirty," he said, "I thought you'd be awake."  
"It's okay Ash," I said, "If a phone call from you wakes me up every morning, your voice is not bad to be the first one to hear."  
I heard Ashton giggle softly, "Thanks, Lucas."  
I smiled at the nickname, remembering how it annoyed me when he first started using it, but I had now become accustomed to hearing the sweet name.  
"So what did you wake me up to tell me?" I asked.  
"I wanted to know if you were busy tonight," he stated.  
"Is that a question?" I asked playfully.  
I could feel him roll his eyes at me through the phone, "Fine," he said stubbornly, "Are you doing anything tonight?"  
"No."  
"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to check out this new bar with me.”  
"Sure," I respond before asking, "What time?"  
"Pick you up at 7?"  
"Yep."  
"Okay then," Ash says, as he goes to end the conversation, "I'll see you then."  
"Yeah," I said, "I'll see you later."  
"Bye, Lucas."  
"Bye," I replied with a smile.

Well if that wasn't the best way to be woken up then I don't know what is. Honestly, waking up to a phone call is shitty, but waking up to your boyfriend calling you to ask you out, that's pretty neat. Especially when you're head over heels for said boyfriend.  
A text pops up on my phone screen and I smile as I see a kiss emoji from Ashton. I'm so smitten.  
Lazily, I clamber out of my bed and down the stairs to the kitchen. I rub the sleep from my eyes as I scavenge around the kitchen for some breakfast.  
"Luke," I hear my mum call out, "Is that you?"  
"Yeah," I call back in return as I grab a box of cereal from the cupboard.  
I hear her shoes click on the tiles as she steps into the kitchen, "Your dad and I are going out for dinner later, you want to come with?" She asked.  
"I can't mum, sorry. I already have plans."  
"Okay then," she replied absentmindedly before consciously asking, "with who?"  
"With Ashton," I replied simply, with a little pink dusting my cheeks.  
"Ooo," she cooed, "you've mentioned so much about this guy," she stated simply, but I knew that wasn't her point. I could probably guess what she'd say next. "When do we get to meet him?" Bingo.  
"I don't know."  
I'm playing the vague card because it is (usually) the only way that mum will take a hint to drop the subject.  
"You've been going out for almost four months," she states.  
"Mum," I complained, with a slightly embarrassing whine in my voice.  
"Sorry, I'm just curious."  
"I haven't met his mum yet either," I argue.  
"And you said he's older, yes?"  
"Yes mum, by two years, it's not like he's thirty."  
"I wasn't saying that," she said gently.  
"I haven't talked about meeting family or anything yet, and it's not that I don't want to, but I don’t want Ash to get weird about it all," I explained, "his father left when he was much younger so it's probably got something and it sounds stupid, but I don’t want anything to resurface any of that."  
Liz looked knocked off- kilter at the comment, but tried to play it off, "Are you sure it's that and not that he's got those massive hole things in his ears."  
"God no," I replied with a small laugh, "We just haven't talked about it."  
"Okay, but I do really want to meet him."  
"You will," I reassured.  
"When?" She asked, exasperated, "on your wedding day?"  
"Ha ha," I chuckled dryly, "you'll meet him soon, okay?"  
"Okay," she said, but didn't give in just yet, "I can't believe that you're sleeping with this boy and we haven't met him yet."  
I inwardly cringe. "Mum," I say.  
She's going to try and make me uncomfortable and agree just to shut her up.  
"I'm not sleeping with him."  
Lie.  
"Just because I've stayed over at his place doesn't mean we’ve slept together."  
Another lie.  
She raised her eyebrow at me in fake judgement.  
"Don't lie to me."  
"I'm not lying to you."  
Lie.  
"Fine, okay then," she said finally giving in and walking out of the kitchen leaving me to finish my breakfast.  
Naturally, though, the rest of my day was not spent at home, rather at work. My family owns a hardware store, so I stock shelves and work the register while I attempt to find the motivation to figure out what to do with my life.  
So I spend a few hours sweeping floors, and scanning countless items into baskets, and then a while in the garden section watering the plants. All in all, it's not a bad day, there are regular customers like Linda who is an avid buyer of hanging lavender pot plants, or Evelyn who comes in all throughout winter to purchase seedlings and chat about her vegetable garden. There's also an older couple who knew my Dad's side of the family when they started the store and have been buying paint, and wood and all of their hardware needs from 'Hemmings Hardware' for a good couple of decades, but there's also Margret who was very concerned about me the first time she saw me after I got my piercing, and then even more so as my hair gradually got darker, muttered something about 'being consumed by the devil'. She hasn't said anything to me yet today, she's standing in the corner of the shop staring at rods of oak dowel and shelves of screws. 

She's the only one in the store currently, it's a slower day today and I'm sitting behind the counter trying to figure out exactly what it is that she's looking for, or what she needs it for. But I haven't the foggiest clue. My mind is also a little hazed over, it's nearing the end of my shift and all I want to do is go home, go on my date and kiss the life out of my boyfriend for no particular reason. I love that I don't need a reason. I can stare hopelessly into the smouldering amiss as our faces draw closer, before watching the hazel disappear as we draw ourselves into an amass of indulgence. Or as we pull away and my hands are still tangled in soft curls at the base of his head, my thumb brushing against the soft skin on his neck, just above where his tattoo sits. Or the late nights spent laying on his chest, listening to his breathing and the heartbeat in his ribs as he runs lazy circles through my hair letting me drift off with his chest as my pillow.  
None of it needs a reason. All of our actions are 'just because'. And that's the simple, beautiful thing about it.

I clearly zoned out, because when I come back to, Margret is standing at the counter.  
"Something on your mind?" she asks.  
"Yeah,” I reply vaguely, “I've got this date,"  
"Is she nice?"  
"Yes, Ash is lovely," I say, not wanting to give her another reason to think I casually communicate with the devil as I begin to scan her items through the register.  
The oak dowel, ten inch coated screws, a ceramic pot, and a dozen or so lightbulbs. It's a very strange combination, but many people would have a project in mind and a few things at home, but needed only a select item from the shop, so when they walked out you still had no idea what they were making.  
"Thank you," she said as I handed her the bag.  
"Have a good day, Margret," I returned.  
"And you have a good date."  
I smiled and laughed a bit, "I will, bye Margret."  
"Bye."

It wasn't a bad day, still, when I reached the end of my shift, all I wanted was to get home and let it all sift out of me, after all, I have a date. But I can't leave yet because Nicola is late for her shift, again. Which leads me to inevitably playing the guessing game of what excuse she'll use. Last week, 'sorry I had to take my cat to the vet', and something about a plumbing leak the shift before that. My all- time favourite excuse would be the time that she said, '"I'm so sorry Luke, the police blocked off my street because they were chasing a drug cartel and wouldn't let anyone in or out."' I knew even then that it was total bullshit, but I had to give her points for creativity so I told her just to call me next time. She didn't, so these days I just expect her to be late. So when she turned up a half hour late I just absorbed her lack of punctuality and drove myself home.  
Her general lateness irritated me, but it didn't prevent me from being late to my date. I had a large cushion of time, but constantly finishing late because one person doesn't know what a watch is- that is something really irritating. Nevertheless, I got home and went straight into the bathroom to shower. Washing off the dust and grime from the hardware store's gritty interior flecked with wood dust and debris from outside. I sunk to the bottom of the shower and sat with my back against the wall, pushing my head under the stream and relaxing into the tiles.  
Sometime after, I reached up and turned the taps off, then at some point stood up, dried off, and stepped out of the shower. Before wrapping the towel around my waist and walking back to my room where I would endure the process of getting ready.  
Thankfully, four months is enough time to get over the pre-date jitters of 'what do I wear?', or 'will this shirt look okay?' or the other semi-standard first-date questions. Our first date was nice and simple, 10 Pin Bowling and then KFC for dinner on the way home. The food stop wasn't planned because we had both eaten at the alley, but we were both still hungry on our way home so we both opted for drive thru. Needless to say that I was not this calm before that date, and the questions thrown around were ones such as, 'what do I wear?' and 'will this shirt look okay?'. Thankfully, I'm past that now, and I throw on a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a slightly large band shirt and my leather jacket over the top of it. I then move onto the insufferable situation of my hair. Before my hair got darker, I found it fairly easy to gel my hair into a quiff. Whereas now I've given up on the quiff completely and opt for anything that even remotely makes me look like I didn't just roll out of bed.  
I look at my watch, and although I've got about a half hour, I decide that I do not want to spend anywhere near that much time on my hair and instead, give up completely. I don't need to try and impress Ashton anymore, plus, he says my hair feels fluffy when I don't gel it. 

I was in the kitchen, sometime later, fishing out a bowl and some cereal when my Mum drifted out of the lounge room. From the room, I can hear the MASH theme song coming from within.  
"Is Dad seriously doing a MASH marathon?" I asked.  
“Yes." she took her seat at the black bench and started flipping through a magazine. It's got pictures of furniture on its cover, so it could possibly be a catalogue.  
"You shopping for furniture?" I asked, sitting down across from her and munching on my cereal.  
"No particularly," she replied before looking up at me, "you're about to go out," she chastised, "you can't be eating now."  
"But I'm hungry," I returned, my words obscured by the cereal in my mouth.  
"And could you eat something other than cereal?"  
I was about to rebut her statement when, "Liz," my Dad called from the living room, "you've been having the same argument with him for the last 20 years."  
"Couldn't have been that long. Not when he was a baby," she fired back.  
"Fine, the last 15 or so."  
I roll my eyes at my parent’s playful argument.  
"You guys are funny," I mock, putting my bowl in the sink.  
Then the doorbell rings, and my mum, who is standing closer to it than I am, makes a move towards it. My immediate reaction would have been to yell at her to stop, but instead, I also walk to it and say, "Don’t worry Mum, I've got it." I grab my keys and wallet as I walk out.  
She gives me a look.  
It’s a mum look, it’s an ‘I’m disappointed in you and maybe sometimes a little pissed at you for not doing something I asked’ look that’s also meant to inflict guilt. It’s barely effective anymore.  
"I said we'd talk about it," I respond, stepping outside to join Ashton.  
He looked good tonight, dressed similarly to me; wearing black jeans, a dark shirt, and his leather jacket.  
"Hey, Luke."  
"Hey," I replied, leaning in to kiss him, letting our lips linger on each other’s a little, before consciously remembering that my mother could be watching out of the front window.  
"How are you?"  
"I'm good," I reply, turning around just in time to see my mum peeking through the curtains.  
"Does Nicola still need a watch?"  
"Yep," I reply, "and some motivation."  
He lets out a small laugh, "You ready to go?"  
I nod my head.

Ashton drives a poorly conditioned Toyota Carola. It's so poorly conditioned that one of the back doors doesn't open and the interior panel of the other one is no longer attached. The flooring was also ripped and had suspicious stains on it. When I previously asked Ash why he didn't fix any part of it, he replied saying that he, 'didn't really care,' and that instead, that 'getting bluetooth installed was more important'.  
At the time I had questioned his priorities, but now as we're driving through the Sydney streets, it's nice to be able to pick and choose what we listen to. As we listen to music we talk about the most random of things, everything from hair dye to pot plants and then eventually to my family. Which reminds me...  
"My mum wants to meet you," I blurt out, "and my Dad," I add, "but he hasn't been as persistent."  
"Okay," he says, "I mean it has been four months, and I do kind of want to hear all the embarrassing childhood stories."  
I laugh, "Okay, well I will tell my Mum," I replied, "Actually, I might just text her, or else she'll probably smother me."  
"And yet somehow, to me, that sounds like more of a reason for her to smother you to death."  
I rest my head against the window, "That's why I've been putting it off for four months."  
"I want to meet your family, Lucas," Ash said with a giggle, "I'll even let your mother smother me."  
"You don't want that," I say, "trust me."  
"You're biased," he said pulling into a parking spot on the side of the road.  
"Maybe," I say, "or maybe you're just uninformed."  
Ashton laughed, "Just tell your Mum that I want to meet her too."  
"Okay," I say as I undo my seatbelt and step out of the car.  
I surveyed the bar, "You said this was a new place?"  
"Yeah," Ash replied as we started walking, "but the building is old, I think it was originally inspired by the style of Speakeasy's during the Prohibition," he explained, "but then it went under, debt or something, so it was bought by a guy who had 'high hopes' for it to have an 80's rock theme."  
"That's cool," I said, as we walked in through the front doors, "How'd you find out about it?"  
"Mum," he replied.  
"So she sold it?"  
"More or less. She was the middle man, convinced one guy to sell it, and convinced the other to buy it."  
I nod, although I'm still not entirely sure what it is that Ashton's mum does exactly, but a lot of the places that we've been to have been found through her work.

We walked inside and I immediately scanned the room for a table. It had a dull rustic theme, uniform throughout the bar with yellow fluorescents offset by red mood lights bouncing off the wooden walls. There were plush leather stools lined in front of the bar and a row of booths with complementary upholstery on the other side. The bar itself was a varnished wood already wearing the stains of alcohol induced mishaps, with two tattooed bartenders wiping down glasses behind it. There were two pool tables down the back along with a couple of dart boards hanging loosely from the wall by a chain. One of the pool tables was busy, two guys played a game and something was definitely off about it. Eyeing the wad of cash lying underneath a half empty glass, I decided that one guy must be hussling pool. It was either that or the other guy had bitten off more than he could chew and was losing terribly. Either way, I was not getting involved because it would most likely end in a bar fight. This is bad for two reasons: the first being that getting into a bar fight would get me kicked out of the bar, and so far I like this bar, also, it would probably ruin the date; secondly, I would definitely loose in a bar fight. Guaranteed.  
So instead, I look over to the band that's playing. There's a front man and a guitarist, a bass player, a drummer, and someone on the keyboard. They're covering ACDC's 'Shook Me All Night Long' and although it's not terrible, the original is still better. 

Ashton tapped my shoulder, "What do you want?" he asked.  
"Whatever's on tap," I reply walking over to a pool table. I turn around to Ashton, "You want to play?"  
He looks back at me and my suggestion, "Yeah, I’m game."  
I smirk a little as he walks away, partly as a challenge, partly in what I know and he doesn’t.  
I will win. Not that I'm competitive... just really good at pool... and maybe a little bit competitive.  
I had set up, ready to break, when Ashton came back with drinks. He handed one to me and put his on the corner of the table. I took a sip and grabbed a cue passing it to him.  
"Your break," I say.  
He takes the cue and I watch the balls scatter as he hits the peak of the triangle.  
I take my first shot and miss. So then Ashton shoots and sinks a little red. Damn, I like the littles better. We talk and drink, with the overcast of competitive banter. Then, and I'm not sure whether it was the beer, or whether I got a little cocky, but I hit the black eight straight into the pocket. And lost the game.  
Whoops.  
"All talk no play," Ashton teases as I stand there staring at the pocket with the eight ball.  
"It's probably the beer," I say, "or you, it could probably be you." I turn to face him, "you're being very distracting."  
"Cute," he says, "nice cover."  
"Well then," I retort, standing closer to him, "you're shit at pool."  
He laughed and kissed me, our lips briefly binding with each others.  
"Want another game?" Ash asked when we pulled away.  
I smile and say, "I'll break." 

Needless to say that when I break and Ash misses his shot I got a little bit of my confidence back. So when I pocketed two littles in my next turn I had to remind myself not to get cocky.  
After I shoot the black into the side pocket I end the game, but this time I win. I walk around the table to Ash, giving him a hug, sticking my hands in his back pockets and planting a kiss on his earlobe.  
"Is this to make up for me not winning either game?"  
"No," I reply, "it's just because."  
I let my head rest on his shoulder, "Do you get cuddly when you drink?"  
I shake my head.  
"I think you do," he says, "and I like it." I close my eyes a little bit, "You smell like wood," he stated.  
"That's the hardware store,” I state, “but damn. I showered." Ash laughed, a genuine Ashton laugh. One filled with more light than the sun could ever produce.  
"Do you want another drink?" I ask.  
He looks at his watch, "Yeah, just one more though, I have to drive."  
"Okay."  
We leave our cues by the pool table and walk over to the bar, each taking a seat on a stool and ordering two more of what we were drinking.  
I handed my cash over to the bartender who gave us our drinks in return.  
I pass one to Ashton.  
"Thank you, Lucas," he giggled slightly, taking the drink from me.  
"Are you sure you can..." I froze. I heard a voice speak, a voice dripping with more venom than a snake. I couldn’t remember the end of my sentence if I had all the motivation in the world. His voice made my blood run cold, and my heart beat fast.  
"It's Lucas, now is it?" the voice teased, "can't call you blondie anymore can I?"  
I knew that voice.  
I fucking hated that voice.  
Ashton saw me tense as I turned around. Trying not to glare. Trying to keep my face friendly, not as though I actually wanted to kill him.  
"Killian," I say, "Hi."  
His smile is smug, "So did you dye your hair after we broke up?"  
"No, it's naturally darker."  
Ashton didn't like the tone I'd taken, he put a hand on my arm, "You okay?" He whispered, concerned.  
I didn't answer him and I didn't turn to look at him.  
"So I see you've found yourself someone else," Killian comments, directing his look towards Ashton.  
"Yeah, and this one isn't a dick," I fire back.  
"I'm hurt Blondie," he feigns.  
"You take it as a compliment. Asshole."  
"Such kind words, Lucas."  
"Fuck off," I warn, "You don't get to call me that." I bore holes into his eyes with the intensity of my glare.  
Killian's hand balls itself into a fist and his eyes move, darting around the room as he becomes more agitated.  
"Are you okay?" Ashton asks as I keep glaring at Killian, "Luke? Luke?"  
I turn and face him.  
"You okay?"  
Before I had a chance to answer Killian stepped in, "And what's your part in this?"  
"Leave him alone Killian," I say tiredly, getting to my feet in a subconscious attempt to prove my dominance through height.  
His chest is puffing, and he's swaying his weight to the back as though readying to throw a punch.  
"This is between you and me," I say, "and you being a dick is not helping."  
"If it’s between you and me, your friend doesn’t have anything to do with it." His words are rough, laced thoroughly with irritation.  
"Killian," I warn again.  
He turns to Ashton and continues, "You having fun with him," he taunts, "Blondie was always so good in bed."  
His eyes locked onto mine, igniting the gunpowder rage inside of me. I breathe and clench my fist.  
Ashton grabs my hand and his thumb was rubbing circles in my hand.  
"What's up your ass?" Ashton asks, his voice taking an unusually snarky tone. Taking Killian's attention away from me and to him instead.  
I didn't want him involved.  
But apparently, that wasn't going to happen.  
"A dick."  
"You're so impalpable I doubt that's true."  
The fist lying still by Killian's side launches into the air to connect with the side of my face and I stumble backwards. My first thought: 'That hurts', my second, 'Killian fucking punched me'.  
That was it, I fucking snapped, my clenched fist went to swing forward, but Killian was beaten forward by a much more superior force to my own. I saw a blur of Ashton swinging his fist to collide with Killian's face. Killian stumbled back and steadied himself before he retaliated, hooking his fist into Ashton's face and smashing his shoulder into his chest. Ash took the blows and recovered quickly. He locked eyes with Killian, his hazel eyes dark with rage, boring holes into the narrowed slits across from him.  
Ashton threw the next punch, straight into Killian's nose, before landing another in his stomach. Killian fell back and Ashton brought his hand up to wipe his face. His hand shook slightly and came away bloody, he had a cut across the skin on his cheek bone, leaving a trickle of blood down his chin.  
A bartender appeared next to them, "What's this?" He demanded, "If you want to fight, don't do it in my bar."  
Neither responded, their eyes trained on each other like a predator bird to their prey as Killian pulled himself up from the floor. The bartender put his hand between them, "Leave," he told Killian. He lunged back towards Ashton in one last attempt and clumsily clipped him just above the eyebrow.  
"Get out," he demanded.  
His eyes met mine, soaked with disgust, "You're more trouble than you're worth Hemmings," he spat before walking out of the bar.  
I rip myself from my third person daze and realise that Ashton is in front of me and bleeding. I step forward.  
"Are you okay?"  
"I'm fine Lucas," he replied, "just a couple cuts. What about you, and your face?"  
I remember: Killian punched me first.  
"My face is sore, a little, but I'm fine. Let's take you home and I'll get you cleaned up. I’m driving"  
"Okay," he said.

Ashton threw his keys to me as we walked back to the car. So I drove his car back to my place. He leaned his head against the window.  
"So who's Killian?" He asked.  
"A relationship that ended on bad terms, he's the ex," I answer simply.  
"He didn't ever..." Ash trailed off.  
"Hit me?" I asked, "No. But he was a jerk the whole time, I just didn't see it until it was almost over."  
He nods his head, "I'm sorry about your face."  
"Don't be, yours is worse."  
He had wads of tissues over the cut on his cheekbone, and a bruise forming over his eyebrow.  
"It's mediocre."  
I wanted to disagree but didn't push it.  
"First bar fight?" I ask.  
"Yep," he replied, "and hopefully last." We both laughed a little at that, but the atmosphere was still thick with an uncomfortable tension.  
We sat, the only thing moving was the blood trickling into the tissue wads on Ashton's face.  
"And you know you didn't have to do that," I say softly.  
His shoulders folded forwards, "I know Luke, but he hit you and everything froze, except for this white hot anger."  
"I'm just glad I knew the guy that kicked his ass."  
He let out a small smile.  
"Plus you look a thousand times hotter afterwards."  
"So you suggest that I should look beaten up all the time?"  
I laugh because he's not so sullen anymore.  
I park outside the house and walk up to the front door with Ashton in tow. I turn around suddenly.  
"You know this means you're going to have to meet my parents."  
"You were the one who was cautious about me meeting your parents."  
"Fine, that's true," I stubbornly admitted.  
"I mean, it would've been better without my face bleeding." I chuckled in agreement, "but we'll just make do."  
"Okay then." I turned around and unlocked the front door.  
Stepping inside I heard my mother call out, "Luke, is that you?" Footsteps, running foot falls.  
"Yes, Mum. There was a," I look to Ash for words, "problem."  
She appears in the kitchen having walked in from the living room. She took one look at us and her eyes opened wide, falling open.  
"What happened to you?" She asked rushing forwards to inspect my face, her voice filled with motherly concern.  
"Bar fight," I respond.  
She drops her hands, her voice instead filled with anger and a dash of disappointment, "Since when do you get into bar fights?"  
"Since Killian's the asshole who started it."  
"Doesn't mean you get involved," she scolded.  
"He hit Luke," Ashton butted in, making his first comment towards my mother.  
She turned to look at Ashton, studying him, looking from his feet to his face, but clearing her face of any judgement.  
"He hit you?" She asked in shock turning back to me immediately after.  
"Yeah," I said, "he did."  
She immediately enveloped me in her arms, "Honey, I'm so sorry."  
"Mum, I'm okay, I'm fine," I say, reassuring her, "And I'm pretty sure he got the message to fuck off."  
She pulled away and looked at Ashton, her expression unreadable.  
"I'm Ashton," he said, reaching his other hand out to shake Liz's.  
She took it, "I'm Liz," she replied with a smile, "And what happened to you?"  
"I punched Killian," he replied, "after he punched Luke."  
"Okay," she said reaching up to take the tissue wad off his cheekbone, "but I'm assuming he got you a few times as well."  
“Yeah, a few.”  
She stepped across to the medicine cabinet and pulled out some large waterproof bandage patches and some antiseptic solution.  
I can only imagine what my father's first thoughts were as he walked in on this peculiar scene, but the words that left his mouth were not anywhere near the ball park that I was expecting.  
"Hey," he called. Liz whirled around, "How come you get to meet him first?" he asked, "and what happened to your face Luke, are you alright?"  
"That ass Killian finally got what he deserved," Liz replied.  
"You punched him?" Dad asked.  
"He punched me. Then Ashton punched him then they fought it out until the bartender broke it up."  
My Dad looked shocked, but impressed at the same time, he held his hand out to Ashton, whose face was being tended to by my mum.  
"I'm Andrew, it's really good to meet you," he said.  
"It's nice to meet you too, I'm Ashton."  
"Look after my son," he said.  
"I will," Ashton replied, his words laced with a promise and his eyes with sincerity.  
"Do you want an ice- pack for your face, honey?" Mum asked me since she had finished tending to Ashton's injuries.  
"Yeah, but I can get it myself."  
My dad obviously thought that Ashton's response was sufficient, as his next question was, "Did you break his nose?"  
"I don't know."  
"Yes Dad," I interrupt, "Ash broke Killian's nose."  
"Good," he said, "Someone had to do it. And it ought to be someone we like," he said.  
Instant approval  
"Isn't that right, Liz?"  
"Yep," she agreed before returning to cleaning the kitchen up a little.  
I smiled, my parents were harmless of course they welcomed Ashton with open arms. I grabbed two ice-packs from the freezer and walked over to Ash, pressing an ice-pack onto his knuckles, taking his other hand and looking over the bruises.  
"Do they hurt?" I asked.  
"A little," he replied, "none of the skin broke though so, I guess it could've been worse."  
I duck my head and kiss his knuckles because I’m sure that although Mum has left the kitchen that she is still nearby.  
"You sure you're okay?" I ask.  
"They’re sore, but I'll be okay."  
"Okay," I say.  
He leans in to kiss me, and I let our lips connect. It's sweet, our lips following the mapped lines of the others. My hand dropping his and toying around the fabric of his cotton shirt, as I leant into his hand resting on my hip. I felt the cut on his lip on the tip of my tongue. It was already scabbing up from his brawl with Killian. My other hand rested on his back, subtly pushing us closer together. He smiled against my lips and reached his ice- packed hand around to lock me in his embrace. I shivered slightly at the unexpected frozen visitor on my back, and Ash laughed at that. When we pulled away I brought the hand on his shirt back to caressing his bruised knuckles. His eyes looked different compared to before in the fight; now they were the most captivating combination of green and brown, a mellow, golden hazel. They projected all his inner feelings and displayed them in the flecks and patterns of his iris' for only a few to see.  
And I was one of them.  
I was someone who got to see the screen that Ashton unknowingly projected all of himself onto.  
"Why are you staring?" he asked softly, genuinely curious.  
"I'm not," I say.  
Lie.  
"I was just thinking."  
Omissive lie.  
"Yeah," he said, a soft smile dancing across his lips, "about what?"  
"Nothing important."  
Somewhat a lie.  
My eyes quickly flicked across the rest of the kitchen. My Dad had also gone, he'd probably left us to have our moment alone. Which means that introducing my parents to Ashton wasn't as embarrassing as it could have been.  
"Do you want to watch a movie?" I ask.  
"Sure," he replied.

I led him into the lounge room that had previously been vacated by my parents and slid open the movie draw.  
"What do you feel like watching?"  
"I don't know," he said thinking, "maybe something Marvel, or something funny."  
I pick the first movie I see that fits the description.  
Marvel. The Avengers.  
We lie down on the chaise of the couch, each with our ice- packs resting on our bruises.  
I rested my head on Ash's chest, and he wraps his arm around my side. I breathed his scent and felt his fingertips brush against my skin as he mindlessly toyed with the cotton fabric of the edge of my shirt. His completely subconscious actions speaking louder and clearer than any other words. The movie played and I could feel every muscle in his body move as he reacts to the scenes as they played out. The comforting vibrations running through his body as he chuckled or made quiet comments to himself. So I lie there, content in my world of Ashton, but as the hazy touch of adrenaline wears off, and the pain of the bruising on my face sets in and I begin to slip in and out of sleep.  
In and out of my napping, I hear bits and pieces of the movie. The scene in Germany where Loki is getting everyone to kneel before him, then later to where Tony's having his monologue moment to Loki in before the fight scene; odd bits and bobs of the fight scene, and eventually the credits.  
I hear the sliding door open, but register that Ashton hasn't left the lounge. I gather from the snippets I catch from their conversation, it was my mum that walked in.  
"Is he asleep?" She asked.  
"Most of the movie," he replied.  
I think I felt her hand run through my hair.  
"Are you staying?" She asked. Ashton must have hesitated because she added, "it's alright if you want to."  
The conversation dropped until the door slid open again.  
"I'm just going to leave these blankets here."  
"Thank you," Ash replied.  
"Ashton."  
"Yes."  
"I can see that he's special to you," she said.  
"He is."  
"Please don't hurt him like Killian did," she pleaded.  
"I swear," Ashton said, "that I could never do that."  
She didn't speak further on the topic, seemingly satisfied with his answer.  
"Sleep well."  
"I will," he returned, "good night, Liz, and thank you."

Sleeping, drifting; foggy dreams, filled with red flashes and the day's scenes played over and over.  
Red flash, Killian punched me, white flash, Ashton punched Killian, red flash, repeat. Then a smile, and maybe a laugh, and then every single touch and how it felt, and the tingles on my skin. You'd think it was the first date I was dreaming about, but it wasn't. Four months in and it still felt so new and exciting. Even just being held by Ashton, or even just holding him. It was all reincarnated into a dream, into my foggy, drifting sleeping state. But when I woke in the morning all that I remembered was the red flashes; not the white, or how the sequence had played. Because of course I remember when all those memories occurred, just not when my subconscious projected them through my sleeping head.  
My eyelids flickered open noting the dull grey shadows seeping through the windows and the sound of rain pelting the roof. Ashton was still asleep, but my stomach grumbled in beg of food. I pressed a kiss to his forehead, and then kicked the blanket off and lazily dragged my feet into the kitchen.  
I had every intention of having cereal for breakfast, the same I have for breakfast all the time. Except the box was empty. I shoved the cardboard remains into the recycling bin and instead grabbed some bread from the cupboard.  
As I went to go back to Ashton in the lounge room, I heard a sleepy voice come from behind me.  
"I thought I heard someone in here," my mum said.  
"It's just me, mum."  
She walked over to me and smiled, "I just wanted to tell you," she paused, "that although the circumstances were not ideal, I'm really glad that we got to meet Ashton," she smiled, "he is a really nice guy, you chose well."  
"He is..." I looked down and bit my lip, "He really is a really good guy," I say stumbling through my sentence slightly. I look back up, "What?" I ask. My mum is staring at me, with an unreadable expression. There was a twinkle in her eye and the beginnings of a smile playing on the edges of her lips. She doesn't respond, "What mum?" I ask again.  
Her answer is slow and thoughtful, "You love him," she states, "and that's something really special." Her words force me to drop my head again, and I lean against the table.  
"I saw you two last night, in the kitchen, and on the lounge, and now I understand why you were so stubborn about letting us meet him. He's a very special person in your life and you didn't want to screw it all up. Trust me," she said, "I know it when I see it."  
I blushed, harder than I ever had before, "I ... you.." I stumbled, my head dropped to the table.  
"Just mull it over," she said squeezing my shoulder and walking back to her room.  
I stood there, leaning on the bench for a while, mulling over her words. Eventually, though, I did stand up and walk back into the living room.  
I sat down on the lounge next to a now awake Ashton.  
"How did you sleep?" He asked, still curled under the blanket.  
"Not bad," I reply, "How's your face?"  
"My face is sore."  
"Let me kiss it better."  
He giggles as I lean in and kiss the cut on his eyebrow, and then around the bandage patch on his cheek.  
"My face is ticklish," he said, giggling again, as I brushed my lips over his. I laughed too and kissed his lips before I murmured against them, "I love you, Ashton."  
His eyes widened at my confession, in surprise, bit definitely not malcontent as it softened a second later a let a smile grace his lips.  
"I love you too, Luke."  
He pulled me back down for one more kiss until the sound of my stomach asking for food made us pull apart.  
"Are you hungry?" I ask.  
"Yes."  
"I think we have some eggs in the fridge."  
"That sounds great."  
I smile, and stand up, "I'll cook, but you’re helping," I say.  
"Fine," he agreed, pushing the blanket aside and dragging himself to his feet.

A/N- It was not meant to be this long, or end this way, but I thought it was cute so I left it.  
Also I’m not saying that Luke couldn’t hold his own in a bar fight, it just didn’t fit the storyline.  
All the love, The UsualSuspect xx


End file.
